


To See if I Still Could.

by TheFire_in_the_NightSky



Series: Paper Cranes [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angelgard (Final Fantasy XV), Anxiety Disorder, Existential Angst, Facing Fears, M/M, Married IgNoct, Noct just needs to learn to relax, Older IgNoct, Scars, Screw being a king, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Supportive Ignis, This isn't sad I promise, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFire_in_the_NightSky/pseuds/TheFire_in_the_NightSky
Summary: Every few weeks it’s the same: Noct springs it on Ignis that he’s made the reservation, and he’s forced to tidy up any pressing business at the Citadel before they head to the Leiden wharf.  Lately, Noct has taken to falling asleep the majority of the drive down, whereas before, he’d be a ball of fidgeting nerves the entire trip.  Ignis quickly learned not to waste his breath on suggestions of turning around after their third trip.





	To See if I Still Could.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dark_Ruby_Regalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/gifts).



> **exulansis**   
>  _n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land._
> 
> \--The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

 

The lapping of shallow-crested waves against the sea salt-softened wood of the dock is the only quiet sound around them now.  The sporadic murmurs and clattering of glassware as the staff of Mother of Pearl died out not long ago when everyone closed up the restaurant for the night.  Noct can still appreciate the gentle amber glow of the lights from where they are, though. He wonders if they should grab a drink before the bar closes, too.  But, here is nice. He doesn’t want to move.

Noctis stretches out one bent leg, then the other, while making some dramatic, tired, high-toned sound.  He can’t help but laugh at the eyebrow Ignis cocks at him when he looks down at Noct. “Feeling tired?” Ignis asks, and brushes a lock of charcoal grey from Noctis’s brow.   

“Nah, not quite.  Getting there, though.”  He shifts his head on Ignis’s thighs to turn onto his side, facing out into the sea; facing those curling, ominous crustal wings that rise from the black water like some giant kaiju from comics he’d read as a teen.

Immediately he wants to forget, but he forces himself not to.  That day had meaning. And it brought him back to this plane of existence, and back to Ignis; and they both brought back the light, in their own ways.  It all had - _has_ meaning… just like this simple wooden structure he lies upon that smells faintly of mildew and brine.  Noctis moves the pad of his thumb along the smooth, dark metal band circling his ring finger, enjoying the odd roughness of the tiny coloured stone that lays amidst the engraved starburst there.  He grabs for Ignis’s left hand that rests in his hair and places a single kiss to his palm along matching tungsten.

“Noct, you can’t possibly be comfortable.”  Ignis always deflects any tension, even when they aren’t venturing down that road.  But he’s right; the warped slats of the dock dig into his shoulder down to the bone, and he feels an awkward stress in his spine now.  “Come, up with you.” There’s a small slosh of water as Ignis lifts his feet from the waves and Noctis eases himself up on one arm, tilting his head from side to side deeply until he feels a familiar little _pop_ that releases the uncomfortable pressure in his neck.

Shoes and socks in hand, and fingers loosely twined between them, they casually walk along the cool sand back towards the winding dock that will lead them to the restaurant, and in turn, their hotel room.

 

Every few weeks it’s the same: Noct springs it on Ignis that he’s made the reservation, and he’s forced to tidy up any pressing business at the Citadel before they head to the Leiden wharf.  Lately, Noct has taken to falling asleep the majority of the drive down, whereas before, he’d be a ball of fidgeting nerves the entire trip. Ignis quickly learned not to waste his breath on suggestions of turning around after their third trip.

At night, the anxiety still seeps in if he thinks too much.  For a year, Noctis thought the memory of their engagement would be enough to buoy him from the depths of melancholy thoughts about this place, but then he’d have a nightmare and the fears and questioning would cover him like a cold shadow for days.  Another year passed, and then another, and day trips were enjoyable, but they didn’t help. Everything was too bright, too normal, _too fixed._  Saving people on his own terms or not, Noctis will never understand how Ignis lived here in the broken dark for as long as he had.  He doesn’t ask that question.

The acclimation is a steady thing, and Ignis is patient and kind with him.  They’ve all had to get used to a series of changes - good and bad - for almost two decades now, but Ignis knows Noct’s inner daemons have left a stifling ash in their wake unlike anything that could merely be swept or washed away.  Ignis caught time in a bottle for him, and Noctis wants to be healed for him and make the most of it.

He thinks it’s a silly thought sometimes, considering Ignis had to do the most physical healing out of any of them.  He still grimaces at the thought of having to let him bear that process without him.

 

The furniture has been replaced and the room rebuilt to be slightly different than the years before the Scourge, and Noctis is always thankful for it.  It’s the one thing that washes relief over him about Galdin Quay now. It is not the same room that held bad memories and bad news.

Ignis is thankful for the smallest of changes - heavier curtains he can draw closed against blinding morning light that crowds the glass wall overlooking the ocean; a better shower in the en suite, and more comfortable bed linens, and a solid damned wall behind the bed.

They rinse off quickly in the shower that can now hold the two of them, and Noctis lets the warm steam in his lungs and the even warmer hands against him lull his nerves that threaten to sprint off into territory he’s too tired for right now.  It’s bad enough, he thinks, that his actual, physical nerves still betray him wherever scar tissue has lashed his skin.

Lips and fingers scour every inch of him when they finally tumble into bed, Ignis always mindful of the areas on Noct’s chest that twitch and flinch against a light graze.  He wants to distract, yes, but only in the best possible ways. Everything presently good, a balm for all that came here before. They pass through these walls like lingering impressions of ghosts looking for myriad ways to move on.  

But for now, Ignis is Noct’s unfinished business, and that nocturnal panic seems like nothing but a wisp of smoke in the air that’s grown heavier with their panting.  The pressure on his chest now is welcome as Ignis’s fingers dig so Noctis can _feel -_ his nerve endings don’t dance around each clench of a hand in time with every backwards roll of Ignis’s hips.  With his right hand, Noctis grips tighter to his husband’s waist, using the other to cup his face. Briefly, Noctis closes his eyes and traces his thumb over the downward curve of a scarred brow, and holds his breath to concentrate when it all leads down beneath Ignis’s eye to the gentlest of jagged lines indenting flesh of a cheekbone.

Tension grows wonderfully between them, within them, and Noct knows it by the consecutive hitches in Ignis’s breath and the way he pushes his long fringe back away from his face.  A near-silent echo of _closer, closer._ Noctis’s hand moves between Ignis’s thighs, the other gliding from his face into that mussed, ash blond hair.  He pulls him down to mould their mouths together, revelling in the soft rumble against his lips and tongue that works its way from Ignis’s throat.  As that coil winds tighter low, low in his gut, Noctis whispers, _“Thank you.”_ on a shared, strained breath.

_Thank you for saving me, thank you for being brave, thank you for fighting, thank you for giving us a second chance, thank you for saying “yes,” thank you for fixing this._

 

A foxy grin edges along the curl of Ignis’s mouth when Noctis’s bleary eyes blink open to dimmed morning light and an arm curled around his ribs.  He folds himself into Ignis’s chest with a smile, sliding his arms beneath Ignis’s to grip his shoulders tight. Maybe he doesn’t have to give into old fears anymore, but his immense luck is still a daily reminder that this all may have not come to pass.  Even with renewed lightness in his heart, Noct can still taste the resignation he felt the day he left that crypt-like prison nearly seven years ago.

They partially dress and go about morning rituals by the soft glow of recessed lighting before Noct decides to let the sun have her time.  “This okay, Specs?” he asks, hanging onto the silk cord beside one set of curtains.

Ignis turns with a questioning glance at Noct, arms up behind his head, struggling to find some midway point in the constant love/hate relationship he’s had with his hair ever since he’d decided to keep it longer.  “Of course, just a moment, though.” He relents with the amount of hair he’s managed to tie back, clearly trying his markedly best not to look annoyed with the strands that fall away to frame his face. As soon as his tinted glasses are set upon his nose, Noct tugs the cord and with the scrape of the curtain rail, sunlight warms the room in its flood.

Fingers playing at the nape of his neck bring Noct out of his reverie while his eyes linger on that strange, dark, raised scab on the horizon.  “I’m going to finish packing, then we’ll ready to head home.” Noctis nods, then fingers are replaced with a kiss, and Ignis squeezes his shoulder briefly before carrying on around the room.

 

When they arrive home, Atrox greets them with an impatient trill as he leaps from the back of the couch.  Before anyone, man _or_ cat, can step on it, Ignis scoops up the envelope from inside the doorway that holds the spare key they’d let Prompto borrow so that he could swing by to take care of the cat while they were gone.  Ignis heads into their bedroom with their bag while Noctis lets himself be lead by their lanky little striped and spotted creature to a food dish in the kitchen.

Noctis settles into the embrace of normalcy in their home.  Every time he steps over that threshold, he is reminded powerfully, that he’ll never quite know a sense of belonging like the one he feels here with Ignis.  As he moves through the house to the tune of their life, he doesn’t feel like they’re two spectres haunting old rooms - he feels _present._  He smiles and rolls his eyes when he spots the pens and paper clips scattered on the floor beneath the front of their desk, and scoops them up, righting the desk organiser Atrox took his separation anxiety out on.  Noct is sure they’ll be finding paper clips hidden away in random areas over the next day or two.

One finger taps along everything that’s still in place, two framed pictures - one of he and Ignis when they were awkward teenagers, and another from their wedding day.  He bops the heads of two colourful paper cranes, then his little carbuncle charm, and finally a stylised paperweight in the shape of a garfish that Ignis absolutely detests… even though Noctis has caught him smiling and shaking his head at it on more than one occasion while signing away at papers some evenings.

Ignis is a warmth at his back he senses before their bodies connect.  There is always some sort of fission of magic there, mingling back and forth between them, no matter how much time has passed since everything changed.

“How’re you feeling?”  Ignis asks him, his arms coming to rest on Noctis’s hips before he turns to face him.

Noctis shrugs.  “Better. It’s always better for a little while, though.  Think maybe we’ll go less, I dunno...” He bites his lips, words wanting to come, but he forces them back for now.  He’d like to never go again, just hold onto that _one good memory_ that hasn’t been tainted by circumstance.

“You’re wanting to apologise again,” Ignis’s seafoam green eyes look Noct over, glasses discarded now that his eyes have adjusted, “and need I remind you that you don’t have to?”

“Well, I didn’t, so that counts for something, right?”

Ignis hugs Noct to him, and Noct adjusts his head under Ignis’s chin so as to not have an imprint of a tiny skull left on his cheek. “I suppose it does.”  A smile drips over those words. “Is it selfish that I wish you wouldn’t put yourself through this again and again? You’ve proven yourself against insurmountable fears long ago, Noct.  Things that most would buckle beneath the weight of. You don’t have to keep pushing yourself, unnecessarily.”

Leaning up onto his toes, Noctis takes Ignis’s face in both hands, using his lithe body to steady himself.  “I know. But I had to face this again, Specs… I have to beat this back, too. I’ve always gone… to see if I still could.”

“You know, you are stronger than anyone before you.   _You are my strength,_ you always will be,” Ignis whispers as he leans in to kiss Noct on the forehead, but Noctis tilts his face down instead, embracing Ignis to meet him halfway.  Maybe halfway could be good enough, and Noctis could learn to content himself with what this all gave to him, and not worry over the fears of sacrifice. A new challenge - to accept and receive, give nothing more, to see if he can.  With Ignis by his side, he’s sure he _will._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ::sigh:: I missed writing these lovers.
> 
> Comments & kudos always appreciated!


End file.
